


The Scarf

by je_gigote



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Knitting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je_gigote/pseuds/je_gigote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock attempts to knit a scarf for John. (A wee sweet little drabble.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> This little drabble is the product of my obsessions of knitting and Sherlock.

The sight of a six-foot, lanky man tucked up in a chair with a pair of knitting needles and a tangle of heather gray yarn would have been laughable, if one had not noticed the intensity of concentration on his face. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, frowning in focus as he drew his spindly fingers which clutched metal knitting needles towards his face.  
  
“Now, right needle goes _through_ and _behind_ ,” he muttered. “And then wrap the yarn around…push it through…slide the left loop off…and…Damn!” He threw his head back, eyes pinched shut, and exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. “MRS. HUDSON!” He waited a beat, staring down at the mess of loops and knots in his hands. “MRS! HUDSON!” Perhaps she had gone out; more likely, she was ignoring him.  
  
Sherlock’s housekeeper—landlady, not his housekeeper—had taught him to knit at his request. When she asked with a bit of a twinkle in her eye why he’d like to learn, he replied, “Well, John’s birthday is coming up. He doesn’t have a scarf—trust me, I’ve looked among all his possessions—and I’ve heard that a handmade gift is traditionally more treasured than a store-bought gift.” _And more heartfelt when given_ , he thought to himself, praying Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t notice the slight flush in his cheeks. (If she did, she didn’t say anything. She was good at that, pretending to ignore how Sherlock flushed when he spoke of John, or how John looked at Sherlock from across the drawing room, all starry-eyed.) She provided him with a set of needles and a ball of kitten-soft gray wool, taught him to backwards-loop cast-on and how to knit and purl.  
“Let me know when you’re ready to cast off, dear,” she said gently.  
  
Cast off! Sherlock couldn’t even get the first row done correctly.  
“I shouldn’t be having this difficult a time! I’m a genius for God’s sake!” He pulled the yarn off the needles and ripped all the stitches out. “I can name each person who’s discovered an element on the periodic table and the year in which they discovered it and the most useful purpose of that element—even the transuranic ones!—but I can’t make a stupid needle make a stupid stitch!” He threw the needles and the jumble of yarn on the floor and jumped up, angrily pacing from the window to the door.  
  
“Okay,” he said, and blew a deep sigh through his lips. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stared at the mess of crafting on the floor, his hands on his hips. Classic aggressive stance, designed to intimidate one’s opponent. He narrowed his eyes, dropped his voice a tone, and spoke softly.  
  
“This is what is going to happen,” he growled at the yarn. “I am going to cast on forty stitches. I am going to use a knit four, purl four pattern to make a nice scarf for John for his birthday. And you. Are going. To comply.”  
  
The yarn lay silently on the floor, clearly fearful of what the man in front of it might do.  
  
“Good,” said Sherlock, and strode towards the fireplace. He picked up the yarn and needles, folded himself back into his chair, and began counting as he twisted loops onto the needle. “One, two, three, four…” This was going to be a magnificent scarf. This was going to be the most incredible scarf in the history of scarves. John would know this because Sherlock had knit it for him.


	2. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives John his birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the very kind comments on chapter 1! I decided to add a second chapter since it seemed like readers wanted to see what happened next. Enjoy!

John didn’t expect it to always be sunny on his birthday, but this year the rain was unrelenting. The temperature hovered near freezing and for most of the day, it was miserable outside. Still, it was warm and cozy inside 221b Baker Street, with a fire crackling in the hearth and the smell of Mrs. Hudson’s freshly baked gingersnaps wafting up from her kitchen.  
  
He busied himself in the kitchen, rinsing wine glasses from the small party they’d just had--Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and Sarah all in attendance, and even Mycroft had stopped by for a few minutes to shake John’s hand and wish him a Happy Birthday. He smiled at the sound of the rain on the window panes, glad for the comforts of the flat on such a dreary evening.  
  
Sherlock was putting his violin away as John returned to the sitting room.  
“Oh, are you not going to play any more?” John asked, hoping his tone didn’t sound too sad.  
“No,” replied Sherlock. “I’m finished for the evening. Besides, you haven’t opened your gift from me yet.” He turned to John and pointed at John’s armchair. “Sit,” he ordered. “And close your eyes.” Sherlock still wasn’t very good at saying _please_.  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake,” John muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
“Well, I don’t want you finding my best hiding place!” argued Sherlock, his voice muffled. He sounded as if he were behind a large piece of furniture, like a desk or the sofa. There was a faint rummaging sound, and then the soft crinkle of tissue paper. Footsteps across the room neared him, and then Sherlock placed a small package in John’s lap.  
“You can open your eyes now,” Sherlock said shyly, and John did so, watching his best friend fold himself into the leather armchair opposite.  
  
The gift in his lap was rectangular and shaped like a large brick, although it wasn’t nearly as heavy. It was wrapped in dark blue tissue and tied with a soft gray yarn bow. John was actually impressed and a little flattered that Sherlock had clearly spent more than twelve seconds on a gift. In his hands, the package was soft and squishy-feeling.  
John pulled at the bow, and ripped the paper away. A long gray scarf unrolled in his hands. John  held it up--it was an ordinary gray scarf, soft, with a nice ribbed pattern. Nothing special.  
  
Except that John could tell out of the corner of his eye that Sherlock was leaning forward, waiting, the look on his face expectant. There was something special about this scarf.  
“Did you make this?” John asked, looking up. Sherlock’s eyes sparkled.  
“Yes,” Sherlock beamed. “Mrs. Hudson taught me to knit!” The mental image of his friend tucked into his armchair working away at two thin metal needles with a ball of yarn unrolling on the floor nearly made John giggle, until he realized what a colossal effort of patience it must have been for Sherlock.  
  
Without thinking, John pressed the scarf against his cheek, closing his eyes at the soft plushness of the wool. It smelled like Sherlock, even, and hearth-smoke and tea and book pages. It was the best smell he’d ever smelled. He stood up, moving to wrap the scarf around his neck.  
  
“Let me,” said Sherlock, lifting the scarf out of John’s hands. Gently, he wrapped it around John’s neck, his fingertips causing goosebumps where he brushed John’s skin.  
“Thank you,” John said softly, catching Sherlock’s hands with his own before they left his neck. Before he even realized what he was doing, John reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s lips, feeling his friend smile under the kiss.  
  
“You’re welcome,” whispered Sherlock as their lips parted. The fire-light made his eyes glow and the kiss made his cheeky rosy. John could hear the rain beat down harder on the windows, and he snuggled into Sherlock’s chest.  
“It’s perfect,” John said, staring into the fire. He could feel Sherlock’s arms pull tighter around him. John looked up. “Will you make a jumper for me next?”


End file.
